Close Quarters

TWENTY-EIGHT

I was close to the intersection with the M04 to Pavlohrad when my cell phone call light flickered. I stopped by a clutch of trees at the side of the road and picked up.

It was Lindsay with an ‘A’.

‘How you doing?’ she said. She sounded chirpy. Casual. But behind it was a rigid professionalism.

‘I’m good. What’ve you got?’

It was an update from Callahan. Donetsk International Airport had just shut down, a victim of the unrest. Closed until further notice. Even if I’d wanted to, flying out from there was no longer an option.

It didn’t matter. I hadn’t planned on going out that way, anyway. Turning back east would be like walking into a sack. But it gave me a feel for the way things were going locally. With the airport closed, the mood of isolation and unrest would spread quickly to other parts of the region. There would be the inevitable ramping up of police and military activity, of curfews and the restriction of movements. If it spread far enough and encompassed the west of the country, getting Travis out might be a problem.

‘There are no reports so far in the national media or via any of the state security links we have access to that could be related to your presence. There was a brief reference to an attack on security members in the Kyiv’ski District, but it was dismissed as the isolated work of criminals and no arrests have been made.’

‘Nice to know that’s what I am.’

‘I have an update regarding the next cut-out. She’s been contacted and will store Travis overnight at a local hotel where she’s the deputy manager. Her husband has strong pro-Russian family links, so she feels Travis will be safer in the hotel out of the way. It’s called the Tipol, close to the river. I checked the website and the building’s big enough so he can be anonymous if he keeps his head down.’

‘Good work. Anything else?’

‘How’s your status?’ She was probably thinking about the two shooters. It was nice of her to ask, but it was standard procedure. A field operative who has specific fears he can’t or won’t express is a danger to himself and his assignment if those fears are unresolved for too long. It’s the job of the handlers to tease out any such issues. They might not be able to do much about them, but talking helps. If that fails, the extreme is intervention.

‘My status is fine. I’m staying on the move.’ If Olena Prokyeva had managed to get word to Ivkanoy about what had happened, the chances are he would be even more on my case and would have more people out looking for me. The biggest danger for me lay in new faces, especially in built-up areas; I simply might not see them coming. Out here it wouldn’t be so easy for them, but the threat was still real.

Lindsay was ahead of me. ‘I did some checking,’ she said, ‘on the man Ivkanoy. Interpol and the Ukrainian Ministry of Internal Affairs have files on him. He also shows up in their State Prison Service records. He seems not to have a first name — at least there’s nothing on record. He’s done time for numerous offences, including murder and extortion. So not a nice man.’

‘Good to know. And the shooter?’

‘Olena Prokyeva. She has an interesting history. She completed military service and was stand-by on the Russian Olympic shooting team in 1988 and again in 1992. It was reported that she should have been in their first team but lost out because she was Ukrainian and had an attitude problem.’

‘They got that right. Where did she serve in the military?’

‘Afghanistan in 1989. That was right at the end of their involvement. She appears to have gone off the rails after that and dropped off the radar. Until now.’

‘Good to know.’

‘That’s not all. Ivkanoy has extended family across southern and eastern Ukraine and over the border into Russia. One of his cousins is Yuri Beltranov, named recently as a leader of a separatist pro-Moscow group in the Luhansk district. Ivkanoy is rumoured to be one of his sponsors for political position in any new administration.’

‘You’ve been busy. Thank you.’ The last bit of information didn’t exactly add to my feeling of well-being, but it was good to know where I stood. It also explained why and how Ivkanoy was able to send two shooters after me so casually; he didn’t fear being implicated because his cousin the separatist leader would be his protector.

‘How’s the work?’ I asked, watching a long line of army trucks thudding east. They were full of troops and equipment, and had an APC at the head of the column ready to clear the way. They looked like they meant business. A military chopper was keeping station overhead, jinking back and forth to study the landscape. It all looked a little unreal, like military convoys so often do.

‘Quiet. I get to see even fewer people than you do.’ There was a smile in the voice and I guessed she was in some kind of isolated room surrounded by electronic equipment and cut off from visitors. Like being in a hospital room only without the smell of medicines. I sensed a reserve, too, as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t.

‘You OK?’

‘I’m good, thanks. Speak later?’

I signed off and got back on the road. If something was bothering her she was too professional to let it out, and I had other things to do.

I found myself in a steady stream of traffic heading west, with bunches of military vehicles and lines of trucks parked at the side of the road. It seemed as if the entire Ukrainian army was on the move, heading towards the east and the separatist militias waiting for them. The soldiers here were standing around smoking and waving encouragement to a few going the other way. None of them looked as if they were relishing the part they were going to play, but they were doing what soldiers do everywhere, which was waiting for the next list of orders from the high command.

The countryside here was flatter than I’d seen before, with gently rolling fields heading off into the distance and not much in the way of trees, other than a long line bordering a rail track heading, I guessed, to Pavlohrad.

As I was taking in the detail, I heard a car horn to my left. A military jeep loaded with armed men was sitting right alongside me. The driver didn’t have a whole lot of room, but he was flashing oncoming drivers to get them out of the way and they weren’t arguing. The front seat passenger flipped a hand for me to pull over and stop, while the rear seat passenger had a grim smile on his face and an AK-74 pointed at my head.